My Imperfect Mr Perfect

Let’s Start Over

“Then leave, Maddie told me everything. Come to the city. Start over. Bring Maddie. My office needs a PA. No degree required. Just show up Wednesday.”

Tuesday: 11:00 AM

The sun from the curtains blinded me. I woke up.

Gosh. Maddie!

I checked the time I needed to get home.

The stranger had left. Memories from last night flashed through my mind, and I blushed.

I told myself it would be just one drink. One drink to mourn my job. One drink to forget the voicemail that ended my relationship of four years. One drink to make the sting of everything feel like someone else’s story.

But three drinks turned to five. I drowned it all.

My name is Lana Hart. 22. Single. Unemployed. Delusional. And apparently allergic to stability.

Ever feel like you're having a bad day? Try losing your job, discovering you’ve been scammed by an online Ponzi scheme, and breaking up with your boyfriend all in one day.

Ask Lana. She’d tell you. She lived it.

First, there was the text:

We need to talk.

The four words that never bring good news. Not from the person you've loved since you were eighteen.

Not when you've given him four years of your life every late-night call, every bus ride across town to bring him home-cooked food, every small act of sacrifice you thought would mean something.

For the past two months, I had noticed. I expected it. My heart had already sunk before I even checked the message, so it didn’t sting as much. It was just… numb.

He was 29 now. A full doctor.

He even told me he was getting married to the daughter of the hospital where he did his internship.

I already suspected he had been cheating all along. He had dated her for two years. Two whole years.

My fingers had trembled around the strap of my worn-out handbag the same one I used to carry extra snacks in, back when he was still in med school.

Turns out, I was just the side piece. The filler girlfriend. The i***t who believed love and support would be enough.

By the time I got home that afternoon, I was too dazed to cry. Too numb to scream.

Then I walked into the small café where I had worked part-time for nearly a year only to find it closed. A paper was taped to the door:

Closed for Renovation.

The owner, Mr. Wyatt, didn’t even bother to call. He had gone bankrupt and laid everyone off in a single text message I never received—he was gone just like that.

Two punches. Back to back. No questions. No explanations.

Just... nothing.

Then came the last straw.

A few weeks earlier, I’d fallen for a too-good-to-be-true investment ad:

Fast returns. Minimal risk.

I didn’t have much, but I transferred the last money I had been saving for Maddie’s college fund.

Just a small leap of faith. A way to maybe triple it and finally start something for us. Something real.

But when I opened the app that morning, all I saw was:

Server Error. This site no longer exists.

My phone slipped from my hand and hit the floor.

I didn’t pick it back up.

That was the final straw.

No tears. No screams. Just silence.

I slipped into a plain black dress, the kind that hugged your sadness in all the wrong places. I grabbed some of my last cash and folded it neatly in my purse, left Maddie a note, and walked out the door.

I didn’t want to drink. I wanted to forget. I wanted to drink until my name dissolved in the glass.

When I woke up, my head throbbed like a war drum. The stranger was gone. So was the comfort. The warmth. The temporary safety of being held without expectations.

Sunlight spilled across the sheets. I sat up, wincing.

Then I saw it.

A card.

Damien Sinclair

CEO, Sinclair and Co International.

I stared at it, trying to connect dots I didn’t have. Emotions swirled.

Shock? Embarrassment? Regret?

No. Not regret.

Amira’s reply came fast, probably typing with one hand while feeding her fat tabby cat with the other, like she always did.

“Then leave, Maddie told me everything. Come to the city. Start over. Bring Maddie. My office needs a PA. No degree required. Just show up Wednesday.”

I turned the card over. Blank. No note. No number. Just a name that now lived in the space between memory and fantasy.

I shoved it into my purse. My usual habit; it wasn’t intentional.

The bus ride home was quiet. Bumpy. Each pothole brought a flash of last night. Still, I didn’t regret it.

When I walked into the apartment, the silence hit harder than the cold.

I kicked off my heels, wiped the smeared makeup from under my eyes with the back of my hand, and stepped into the living room Maddie’s safe space. Her books were spread around the couch.

Headphones in. A pencil tucked behind her ear. She didn’t even look up.

“Hey,” I said.

She didn't respond.

“Maddie?” I said again, this time my voice louder.

She looked up. Her expression is unreadable. “You’re back.”

“Yeah.” I shrugged off my jacket. “You eat?”

“I made noodles.”she muttered, Her voice was flat and devoid of warmth.

“Okay. Good.” I hovered for a moment. “You okay?”

She turned back to her book.

I wanted to say more. To explain. To tell her that maybe just maybe things could finally change.

But the words clung to my throat, heavy with guilt and exhaustion.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

She didn’t reply.

I closed the bathroom door and let the water run hot. Steam curled around me like forgiveness. I leaned against the wall and just… breathed.

Just breathe.

Another text buzzed on my phone, lighting up the cracked screen.

“Sorry, there was a mix-up. The interview is on Friday.”

I exhaled. Relief spread through my shoulders like a warm blanket. Two more days to breathe. Two more days to hold onto hope.

When I came out, the apartment felt softer. Still tired. Still worn. But softer.

Maddie sat curled up on the couch, her book open but untouched. Her eyes flicked to me. Then she did something unexpected.

She stood up, walked across the room, and wrapped her arms around me.

Tight. Trembling.

She was taller than me now. Her embrace felt like a question and a promise all at once.

We didn’t speak. We just stood there, two sisters tangled in a storm of silence and grief. Our sobs came slow, then faster. All the words we never said leaking out as tears.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered into her shoulder, voice shaking. “For everything. For being the big sister who never had it together.”

Maddie pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.

“You were sixteen,” she said quietly. “You did everything.”

Her words cracked something in me.

I smiled through the tears. “It’s not bad news this time,” I said. “We’re starting over.”